love sonnet xi…
L
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
— Pablo Neruda —
just so…
The crease of my hips fits your hands (just so). You note this as you watch, as is your preference. Stripped down to silky skin – caramel soft on white, white sheets, I swing my hair over my shoulder and look back at you (just so). Your gentleman hands hold my ankles sweet and I shift away from you onto the bed, onto my tummy.
Side-boobs gently bulge, and my hands slip between my legs (just so). I rock on my clit. I dig the soft, firm edge of my knuckles into the growing nub of my passion until my voice catches, making your heart skip a beat (just so).
You smell me now, this wet that’s been waiting for you. My panting breath catches in a moan and your head drops back. I am here, splayed, spread, juiced-up for you. I feel the air cool on my ass compared to the heat dripping between my curled fingers. You lightly brush my ass cheeks with your lips. I lift my ass (just so). And each time you brush, I lift with a deeper moan. My arms are taut from the strain of my personal-public pleasure; this show is for you alone.
My gasps strain for you with sounds ragged like the shape of your name, like the curves of “yes” and “please.” And when you finally reach for me, it is for the crease at my hips that hooks me and pulls me up (just so) onto the wet of your mouth, the swell of your glorious hard… the slam and pound of our voracious need.
Just so.
Sweet Lover, just so.
– Lola Moi –
cumming into your own…
… our battle cry for authenticity and the ideas it creates about who we are can sometimes serve to guard us against vulnerability. These places we call “in-authenticity” may just be the edges, or the uncharted territories, of who we consider ourselves to be. Consciously going to the edges of what we feel is “authentic” may actually be an opening to increased possibilities…
– necessary shenanigans, “the practice of play” –
so i might tenderly…
landscapes and bridges…
just the beginning…
i bite my lip…
Your jaw aches when I touch myself. I pleasure myself until you moan… until you look me in the eye and groan your need. You bite your lip to stop yourself from begging… for a taste. Again and again I rub, squeeze, trace, pinch, dip and slide. You spread my legs, prop them up against your thick chest and broad shoulders; your licks and kisses trace along my leg, you suck my toes.
My gasps are echoes to my back arching, my hips swaying and lifting with each husky gasp and sweet sigh you make. My fingers dance and dip along my lips as they puff and fill with heat. You smell my wet, you hear it and you whimper. Your hand beats in time to mine, your cock now dancing to our shared rhythm.
Fuck, I want you. I am starving for you.
I want to taste you so badly, my jaw aches.
I bite my lip to stop myself from begging… for you to taste me.
– Lola Moi –
you say you like me…
You say you like me wet.
You say
You say you like me wet.
You say
And I spread
So you caress
And I arch
So you grip
And I bend
So you thrust
And I reach
Slow
Hard
Fast
Gentle
And I
So you
lick/squeeze/spin/suck/pound/flip/grind/inhale/watch/kiss/slip/spank/gyrate/dig/juice
And I
And I
And you say
And I moan
And you say
And in all my wet
We moan
– Lola Moi –
